The House That Built Us

This house may not look like too much to you, and I can understand that. 

Because what you can't see is the upstairs closet where I wrote the family name in pure black sharpie, or the door in the kitchen with mine and all my cousins heights listed with all of the progressions over the years. You can't see the kitchen my grandparents used to dance in, or the antique spoons my grandma had hung on the wall of the dining room. You can't see the green shag carpet. You can't see the stairs in the back of the house that us cousins were always afraid of, and tried to see who could walk up into the darkness the farthest. You can't see the play room. You can't see the fireplace, arranged with mismatched stones. You can't see my grandpas breath savers sitting next to his blue chair, or the candies he used to sneak to me that looked like orange peanuts. You can't see the kitchen table where I used to slip cards through the cracks just to hear the parents giggle. You can't see the people who made that house a home. So I understand how this doesn't look like much to you. But boy, this was everything to me. 

Sometimes I go stare at this house. This last time was the first time in a while, and I found myself start to panic when I couldn't place in my head where one of those side windows belonged. The realization of the time since I've stepped in there set in.  It has been a little over 5 years, and so much has changed. With me, and with this house. This house the once was red. The house has had a makeover, and hopefully, I have too (don't go look at pictures of me from the beginning of sophomore year, I'm still flirting with the awkward phase at that point).

The only thing that's the same of me and 314 W. Park Place are our hearts, and this house has such a good one. A big part of mine is still there, and I'm okay with that. 

Winter Funk

The last month or so has been a weird season of life for me. I think I just need to be real about how weird I've been, because otherwise you just won't get it. Read with caution of TMI and other random things no one asked.  

-I've allowed myself to get way more stressed about things than I have in the past. 

-I have lost 8 mystery pounds that I fully believe were stress induced. 

-I have started going to coffee shops by myself and staying there for hours reeeeeally often. 

-my "time of the month" came at the totally WRONG time and I now have only had a week between these said "times". This includes all the hormones, cramps, mood swings, and nonsensical crying that goes along with it. Double trouble. 

-I decided it was a good idea to take an art class, and any of you that know how I am with art will understand that what that really means is I decided it was a good idea to do something WILLINGLY that will make me feel like a waste of flesh. (Dramatic, but during the THREE HOUR CLASS that's how I feel)

-I've spent way too much money. On stupid things. 

-I've questioned every little thing there is to question in my life, and decided to ponder these things all at once. Because that's logical and mature.......

-I've been kind of a flaky friend and haven't reached out to people in the same way I usually do. 

Whoa... So that way heavy. 

That was not intended to make you fear that I am super unwell. I'm doing just fine. The whole point of this, actually, was to tell you that it's totally cool if you're in a winter funk, because I absolutely am. So I thought the best way to relay that message was by airing out my dirty laundry to the Internet. 

Whatever... We're all flawed.

If you didn't know I was then I hate to break your little unrealistic heart, but here I am!!

Here's to hoping we figure our shit out!

Words

When I was young, my sister had a fish named Princess. If you can guess, she was pink. And from what I can remember, she was quite creepy looking. Sorry Andie, but that fish had something weird going on. The eyes were way too big and too far on the side of her face, and I swear she stared into my very being.  Especially on the day she died when she was giving me the evil eye in the corner of our tank. The reason I so vividly remember this is because of the interaction I had with my aunt once we noticed the fish. Her and I stood looking at the edge of the tank, and I remember just barely being able to see over the old brown table it was resting on. I just looked up at her and said "Auntie Debbie, that fish is damn dead." I don't remember much else about that story after that, which means she did a good job of keeping her cool. Same goes for my other 'dammit' story. The one where I wouldn't stop climbing on the coffee table, so my mom told me to go to my room, and to threaten and punish her I said "Fine! But i'm gonna' say dammit when I get there!" No one really knows if I did or not, because they were laughing too hard to listen, and I didn't see what was so off.

Dammit is just a word.

What kind of power can be in a word?

Well, a shit ton. See, I said shit and you noticed. Because as we all know, some words hold more meaning. Some are more shocking. Growing up as the girl who was known for swearing at inappropriate times, I learned this lesson. Some words hold more weight. Sometimes the same word can carry different weights and meanings, too. Saying you love coffee is different than saying you love (insert name here). But the same word does that to people. Words are by far, in my opinion, the most beautiful and powerful tool we have the ability to use. 

Some sentences are boring. 

Some are beautifully eloquent with proper punctuation, immaculate in appearance, and alluring.

Some are short.

Sum loook relly bad & u can hardley stand 2 read thm.

Words are so powerful, and we should use them.
Compliment that person because it matters.
Mean what you say.
Don't be afraid of your words.
Speak proudly.

"Whatever words we utter should be chosen with care, for people will hear them and be influenced by them for good or ill." -Buddha